


Wrong Turn

by ladysorka



Category: Hanna (2011)
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 19:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladysorka/pseuds/ladysorka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong Turn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [not_the_marimba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_the_marimba/gifts).



You run.

You run faster than you've ever known you could. Your feet pound against the pavement, though the ground is hard and unyielding and you can feel every pebble through the thin soles of your shoes.

You're getting short of breath - you'll need to stop soon or you'll simply just collapse. You need a drink and to sit down. You need time to think. You're not going to get it, because you know that he can outlast you. He can outrun you.

By rights you shouldn't even be here, and he shouldn't even care. He obviously wasn't there for you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. A wrong turn down the wrong street, a knock on the wrong door opened by the wrong person.

"Hallo," he'd said and smiled at you. At first, all you noticed was the fact that he was wearing a tracksuit. Then you saw the two dead bodies, tightly bound and hanging from the ceiling behind him. You don't think you screamed, but you'll probably never know for sure. You just know that you backed away and started to run. Your only thought had been to get away from him, get away as fast as you could.

You'd heard the woman's voice as you sprinted away. "We can't have any loose ends, now can we," she'd said. "Take care of it."

"Of course," the man had replied.

So you run.

You can hear him behind you. His feet fall evenly and his breathing is steady. He's not tiring, not like you are. He must run marathons, you think absently, even while you know that he's going to outlast you. You're running on pure adrenaline now. If only you could find someplace to hide, someplace he might not find you or you might be safe.

You don't know this part of the city well. You were just going to meet a friend (Dead, you think, she's dead). You don't know where there would be a lot of people at this time of night. You don't know what buildings will be open. You just run, hoping against hope that there might be something useful in your path.

The traffic light ahead of you turns red and you dash around the corner. You can still hear him following you. He's getting closer. You're flagging, and you know it. Your body isn't used to this, not like his obviously is.

You follow a curve in the road and suddenly spot your salvation. There's a park straight ahead of you, and you know that park. You've been there before. You know that in the center of it there's a large maze with high walls. You know that it closes at dusk. You won't be able to lose yourself in a crowd, but you might be able to hide.

You run across the street, both cursing and being thankful for the lack of cars this late at night. You stumble slightly as you enter the park and you almost start to cry. You'd forgotten that it was raining all morning. Running in the mud will slow you down. Maybe it will slow him down too. The hope gives you a burst of speed.

You can see the maze ahead of you, dark and imposing against the nearby streetlights. It's gated shut for the night, but you scramble up the side of the wall and ease yourself into the maze. You stop for a moment, letting yourself breathe. The high walls block out most of the light from the city around you, and you can barely see.

You can still hear him behind you, but what was feet slapping against mud has changing into a man starting to climb a wall. You panic and take the first turn you see, then a second and a third and a fourth. You're not trying to get out, only trying to hide.

You hear him hit the ground and you realize your error. He can hear you too. You can't hide from him by running. You take another two turns and slow to a walk, trying to be as quiet as you possibly can. You take another turn and stop, listening. He's slowed to a walk as well, and your heart beats faster. You would almost feel safer if he'd kept running.

Two more turns and you hit a dead end. You stare at it for a moment, frozen. You could backtrack, but you can't tell exactly where he is. You could climb over it, but he would hear you, and you don't know if that would lead outside or just to more maze.

You decide to backtrack, but three turns later you hit another dead end. He's started to whistle and you can tell that he's close, but you're in a maze. Close could mean he's on the other side of the wall. You backtrack one more time.

You hit another dead end and your hands start to shake. Maybe you're just going in circles, but you can't backtrack enough to start over. Not without risking running straight into him. Climbing would still tell him where you are. You don't know what to do.

The shadows of the walls cast one corner of the dead end in almost complete darkness. You sit down in the blackness and hug your knees to your chest. You can still hear him whistling, the same tune over and over again, but it's more distant now. 4/4, you think a little crazily, two bars. Eighth notes.

Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in every part of your body. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears. You know you're panicking and not thinking straight. You know you should get up and continue to run, but you can't move. You feel frozen. The small part of your brain that's still thinking rationally is screaming at you to get up, but you can't. You can't.

You hug your knees tighter. The whistling stops and you jerk your head up. He's standing in front of you, peering into your hiding space, the little light there is in the maze reflecting off his blond hair like a beacon. You don't know if he can see you yet and you hold your breath, afraid to make a single sound.

"Hallo," he says, and smiles.

You close your eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried, but I couldn't manage to write a really Isaacs-centric story. I hope this worked for you anyway, despite not being quite what you asked for.


End file.
